


Thinking in a Different Medium

by Chromatophorium



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Kim Kitsuragi, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, idk how to tag, slow start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromatophorium/pseuds/Chromatophorium
Summary: The pages of his notebook have been filling up faster than normal while he has had this concussion. Filled with more disorganized thoughts than usual too. But if it doesn’t hurt this investigation, he can work around it.A murder in a hotel. The newly transferred lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi, newly sober Lieutenant Harrier Du Bois and newly forgotten Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare are sent to investigate.Is the victim’s dying message more than meets the eye? Is the lieutenants trusty notebook still as trustworthy?Summary will change... when I get better at writing summaries.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois & Jean Vicquemare, Harry Du Bois & Kim Kitsuragi, Kim Kitsuragi & Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... First time posting fanfiction for me. Tell me if the tags or something are wrong please! Also feel free to give me some crit on my writing or... anything really. I just wanna know I did good and how to get better
> 
> I changed it to a second person perspective, for various reasons. So yeah. 
> 
> Also, by the way, Harry in this is good at Fys and Psy, kinda average at Int and crap at Mot. Just so you know.

A cacophony of noise greets you as you wake. A low booming sound, ungodly in its loudness, mixing with a familiar ringing sound. Your half-awake thoughts flit about in the noise like distorted radio chatter from a broken shortwave. There is static, silent but somehow still being heard above the other noise, that fills the spaces in between the thoughts. It gives you a headache.

You wait. You know that it will fade. And it does. The orchestra of sound and not-sound fades, slowly but quicker than yesterday, until the only instrument left is the bells of your alarm clock.

As your mind wakes fully, you blindly reach for the alarm clock to shut it off. You succeed on the first attempt and reach for your glasses which lay right beside it, right where they should be. You put them on and finally the world is clear to you.

At least visually. Your mind might not be as awake as you thought.

As you get out of bed, you realize that you don’t know if you’re supposed to work today. Wait, you set your alarm for 6:50. So it has to be a workday, but wasn’t there something about today…?

You rub your temples. Your headache isn’t doing you any favors to remember what was supposed to do today. You curse your headache and the concussion that caused it.

The concussion. Yes. That’s why.

You tread over to the bathroom, picking up your notebook on the way. You take a Drouamine to help with your headache and try stretching to alleviate the stiffness in your back. It helps somewhat.

Right. Concussion. Notebook.

You leaf through your notes on your way to the kitchen for breakfast.

It’s been a week since you and Harry solved the case in Martinaise. And ten days since the tribunal. Ten days of on and off headaches, nausea, general loss of focus and waking up to the agony in your head every morning.

But at least it has gotten shorter and more manageable over the days. Your focus still isn’t where you want it to be, and you still forget bits and pieces sometimes, but that’s what your notebook is for. Its pages have been filling up faster than before and it has been even more helpful than normal in his current condition

As you make yourself a simple sandwich and eat it, you review the week since Martinaise in more detail.

After the confrontation with Harry’s colleagues, you made a quick report back to your station by way of radio. The sound of the radio crackle had been a bad reminder of the pain of getting pale and radio waves blasted through your head, so you had kept it short but professional.

At Harry’s insistence, you had gone with them to the 41st. Harry reasoned that it would be quicker to get your concussion checked by their lazareth, Nix Gottlieb, instead of getting a checkup at your own station. You couldn’t drive anyway, so you accepted the ride.

Driving with a concussion was an invitation for yet another MC in the sea. Even if you would have never let that happen to your prized Kineema, it was better to be safe. So you had to leave the task of driving it back to the 57th to the back-up from the station that would arrive there soon.

The drive over had been awkward. There was a tense atmosphere between Lieutenant Du Bois and Satellite Officer Vicquemare, one you weren’t willing to try and smooth over. This was between the two of them, and you had been pulled into the crossfire of it more than enough. You hadn’t needed to involve himself further. 

Besides, there were better things to focus on, like not throwing up. Kim Kitsuragi didn’t get carsick, but the concussion had somehow ignored that rule. It felt awful. The light vibrations caused by the motor and the wheels against the road usually comforted you. Right then it just made everything feel worse. Luckily you arrived at the 41st before anything could come of that feeling. 

After the checkup, Lazareth had ordered you to take a break from police work for three days.

It’s an order you didn’t go against per se, because writing a report and getting you transfer going are technically just paperwork, not police work. You did try to rest up and go easy on yourself with it, but one could only do that to a certain extent when one knows there could be a small-scale war breaking out any day.

And transferring could take ages if one didn’t prod at the officials enough. So to get to the center of the approaching action faster, you had to politely command the officials to speed up, in the only way they could understand: bureaucracy. And some well-placed glares for good measure.

You finish your breakfast and try to project an okay mood onto yourself, now that the headache medicine is slowly easing the pounding in your skull.

The bureaucracy had given you headaches almost as bad as the concussion. The soreness of your body after having to run after Harry for 5 days didn’t help improve your general mood either. Though that dynamic seemed to have been reversed after Martinaise.

All throughout the week Harry had sought you out. Whenever you were around the 41st to clear up matters about your transfer, Harry had given himself the task of following you anywhere. He had even shown up unannounced in front of your apartment two times.

You suppose that makes sense, since you have been the biggest constant in Harry’s remembered life and that would be hard to let go of.

But it still is uncomfortable to have an intrusion on your private life that could show up at any time. Harry had slept on your foldout couch in the living room three nights that week.

The first night he had just appeared in front of your front door. You had *apparently* dismissively invited him to “hang out” after work when Harry had called you at work over dispatch.

You didn’t really remember what you said during the blatant misuse of the radio system that had happened that day. Only that Harry *had* called you and that you had been determined to keep the call short, since the radio had made your headache flare up. You supposed that could have been a way to get Harry off his back. 

But that hadn’t mattered at that moment. What mattered was that there was a wounded officer in front of your door. An officer who had spent the last of his Martinaise money to get there on the last running light rail even close to where your apartment was. An officer that was very excited to “hang out” and have a rematch in Suzerainty. An officer that would have had to limp back to Jamrock, because you had just spent the last of *your* Martinaise money on groceries and couldn’t have called him a cab. Not without breaking your budget and using your emergency funds, anyway. 

So you had relented. You had let Harry into your home, “hung out” and let him sleep on your foldout couch. Oh, and he absolutely trashed him in Suzerainty. Harry deserved it for not thinking ahead.

The second time wasn’t unannounced, but it wasn’t exactly planned either. You had visited the 41st that day, to get some bureaucracy done and to discuss some details of THE HANGED MAN case. But the bureaucracy had turned into a flood of paperwork and head pain.

By the time the detail discussion with the detective could be had, the rowdiness of the 41st made it incredibly hard to focus on anything other than your notes in front of you. The 41st was somehow as loud as the juvie breakroom at the 57th. You could get used to it, you had gotten used to the hell that was juvie, but just not with a raging headache.

So you had chosen to take the discussion to a quieter place, where you could focus. You had somehow, in your bureaucracy induced haze, chosen to do this at your apartment.

Harry had paid the fare there, with newly acquired money. He had sold the sizable amount of booze that he had found hidden by his past self around the station, to other officers. They had assured him they would make good use of it.

The afternoon had turned out pretty well all in all. The detail discussion was turned into a full-on comprehensive examination of the case. At your request, you two had turned the examination into a nice all-nighter. Well, almost. Harry had passed out sometime before 2 am. You yourself couldn’t get later than 3:30.

The third time had been the next day. Or the same day. All-nighters messed with time, but they were effective. You had gone your separate ways that morning, Harry back to the 41st and you to the 57th for more paperwork.

When you came home that day, Harry was pacing in the street outside your building. He had started talking about how your neighbors were too nice not to be hiding something, the dog across the street had killed a racoon and other mundane observations.

But he cracked as soon as you asked about why he was there.

He had apparently “fucked up real bad at work today.” So much so that he couldn’t show his face there ever again. He apologized and apologized to you and begged him to please forgive him and not leave him too. He said he was sorry for everything and was sobbing and probably having a little panic attack.

You hadn’t heard anything about this at work. If it really was as big of a “fuck up” as the detective was making it out to be, you would have. So this was not as bad as he made it out to be.

You ushered the sobbing mess of the detective up the stairs to your apartment, to get him off the street. Away from the eyes of judging strangers that would undoubtedly only make the situation worse.

The detective rambled on about how he had broken an artifact of trust. He would say that everything was his fault then suddenly switching to blaming everything on others, and how they had forced him into the situation.

There was even a moment where he blamed you for this “fuck up” because it had been your suggestion to rebuild rapport with his C-wing colleagues. He apologized for it the moment the sentence was uttered and switched back to blaming himself again. And then back to blaming the world at large.

You had tried to assure the detective that it probably wasn’t that bad. You gave the detective some reassuring pats on the back and occasionally repeated that the detective could make things right again. And after a while, it did seem to help your unexpected guest to finally compose himself somewhat and stop sobbing into you. The constant apologies and self-putdowns didn’t stop though.

So you had resorted to a different tactic. You commanded the detective to just go sleep and not worry about it until the next day. He wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it until then anyway.

It did turn out fine. It wasn’t a big deal, just like you thought. When Harry had apologized for his behavior, thankfully with a short and non-hysteric apology, things turned cordial again. There might have been a bit of tension left, but that would probably be overcome with time and working together.

You didn’t exactly know what had caused the situation in the first place, and you didn’t ask. If it concerned you, you would have been notified, and this was between Harry and his colleagues.

The rest of the week Harry had spent at the station or who knows where, just to avoid going to his own apartment. Again, you hadn’t asked where, since that was none of your concern.

You had tried to make the best of all the home invasion situations. Using Harry’s presence to discuss your notes on the case and make your report even more detailed with the perspective of another detective. Even if you did have to disregard half of Harry’s reasonings, because they were either outlandish or entirely unrelated to the case. You had to convince Harry not to write those in his own report either.

You had also made sure Harry thoroughly understood that he could only “investigate” your living room. The rest of your apartment and your garage space are safe for now.

You need to get his thoughts straight on this. It’s better to think this through than get it to potentially stew over and sour your relationship with the man you’re going to be working with for the foreseeable future. So you flips to the last pages of your notebook and gets your pen out.

(( Transcription: As amusing and smart as the lieutenant can be sometimes, that doesn’t make it feel less exposing for him to be around all the time. -- If anything, it makes it worse. Harder to keep your guard up.

Harry Du Bois is a brilliant detective and a person that’s trying to be better and do good, which is respectable. to help this man get himself together again, I could put up with the breach of privacy if:

  * If he doesn’t Jamrock Shuffle all over my apartment. 
  * or try to can-open me again.



I’m not a suspect and my home is not a crime scene.

Disrespectful really, treating his colleague like that.

No work and private life separation.

But understandable, in a way.

Investigative instincts can be hard to ignore, but it is a must for your sanity.

You can’t solve everything like an investigation, as great as that would be, admittedly

  * And actually tries to get his act together.



Just because we’re not on an investigation or writing reports at work, doesn’t mean he can goof off all the time. If he wants to do that, he can do that somewhere else.

I have had indulged more than enough of his tangents in Martinaise. ))

Ending your own little thought tangent, you close the notebook and get ready for your last few work hours at the 57th.

All your prodding has paid off in the end, and the process that usually takes a month has been sped up to a week. Now the only thing left to do now, is to tie up some loose ends at the 57th and get your belongings to the 41st.

As you walk out onto the street in front of your apartment, you glance back at the garage beside the building. A sense of longing fills you. Your MV is right there. The Motor Velocipede hasn’t gotten a good workout in almost two weeks now… But today won’t be the day that streak ends. It will have to stay behind the graffito covered garage door, until the aftereffects of the concussion are gone. That day can’t come soon enough.

For now you’ll have to walk, or hop on a light rail, to work. You turn around and do just that.

\-----

Your last day working at the 57th has gone well so far. You have collected his meager belongings off your desk. Your belongings, mostly consisting of various pens and other office supplies, and a handful of nicer trinkets forced into your hands by your colleagues, were packed away neatly in a box to carry with you to the 41st.

The pinball themed knick knacks that would periodically appear and reappear on your desk, were all freed from their prison of the lowest drawer. Only to be reincarcerated in a nondescript bag. Finally, you'll be able to get rid of these things without arousing suspicion or ire from your coworkers. They’ll go into the first trash can far enough out of the 57th’s territory, and you can’t wait to finally put them in the place where they had always belonged.

You have organized all your files, reports and other paperwork, and are now working on putting them in their proper places.

You have just gotten back from the secretary’s desk, getting a few bland well wishes from various officers on the way. You hurry towards the archives, hoping to avoid the one who usually spends his time around the coffee machine at the entrance. But you have no such luck.

“Ey! Kimball! How you doing? This is the day you desert us, right?” Sergeant Dominic Moreau, the namesake of two of your recently completed case reports, stands in front of the door to the archives.

“I’m doing well, officer,” you respond cordially. “And yes, I am *transferring* today. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, step aside please. I need to get into the archives.”

“You gonna start Jamrock Shuffling now? I better keep you away from my lunch box, or he’s gonna confiscate my lunch for evidence!” The officer speaks louder, trying to get the attention of some other officers that are milling about the area. And their attention he does get.

You sigh. “Could you just step aside, officer?” you try once more, ignoring the looks being sent your way.

When he doesn’t get a reaction, Moreau tries another angle.

“Or do you have your sights set on another container, Kimball? Maybe the one containing your loyalty to the RCM? Oh, wait, that ones empty isn’t it?” The officer jabs.

You flare up at the disrespect, but don’t give him the satisfaction of a facial reaction. You prepare yourself for a decisive retort that will shut down any further comments. You don’t have time for this.

“Need I remind you that I am your superior, *officer*,” you say, level a glare at the officer and continue. “Not merely that though, but also 16 years your senior in years spent in service. You may have risen the ranks quickly, officer, but I did not luck out as you did. I worked my way here, through years of sweat and blood. So do not question my loyalty to the organization you have only been a part of for a mere 4 years.” You give the sergeant an unimpressed look. “Now step aside, so that I can file away *your* reports, since you clearly don’t have the dedication to finish them on your own.”

“Geez, lieutenant. Can’t you take a joke?” Sergeant Moreau shoots back, but backs down as well. He steps aside. “I guess that hasn’t changed, even if your ability to make good choices has.”

“It has changed for the better, I assure you.” You say as you walk past, but turn and regard the officer again. “And if we don’t have the *pleasure* of meeting again later, I’ll take this chance to say goodbye and good luck with your future work.”

“Yeah! Right back at you! Good luck at the bloody murder station! You’re gonna need it!” Sergeant Moreau yells at your back as you walks further down the archive halls.

You allow yourself a moment to relish the satisfaction of putting the officer in his place for a moment.

Then you compose yourself. You have work to do. Starting with a copy of the report of THE HANGED MAN, you put all the last case reports you’ve made under the 57th in their proper place.

\-----

With your job in the archives done, you makes toward the task you have been both somewhat looking forward to and dreading the entire day.

On one hand, it’s always nice to get your hands dirty while doing maintenance on the Kineema. On the other hand, it stings knowing this might be the last you see of its 130-kilowatt motor and worn steering levers.

You had not been permitted to take your Coupris Kineema with you in the transfer. Not for your lack of trying. The economics department of the 41st had tried to recoup the MC that they lost to the sea by trying to get the Coupris Kineema to transfer with him to the 41st, so you had had support. But even with it, the economics department of the 57th wouldn’t budge and had even brought it up to inter-district resource management, who had sided with them.

And there was only so much bureaucratic prodding one could do before one would be perceived as begging. You would not stoop down to that level.

The Kineema would be in safe hands here at least. You know you can trust the mechanics of the 57th to take care of your pride and joy. You have seen Girard’s and Gustafsson’s work on plenty of post-shootout repairs and you know their dedication to the MCs rivaled your own. The new kid that is sometimes around doesn’t seem half bad either.

The Kineema would be taken care of in your absence, no doubt about it. Making a last maintenance check would still hurt though.

Approaching your faithful friend, you pat its hood sorrowfully. You take out your notes and prepare to document the state it is in now.

(( Trantsciption: Condition of vehicle before reassignment

Fluids: Transmission fluid, Transfer fluid, Coolant fluid, Power steering fluid; no need for refill. Brake fluid, Oil; topped up

Fuel level; about half empty

Coolant fluid exchange; adequate

Engine air filter; changed

Oil filter; in good condition

Spark plugs; no need for replacement for a bit

Rear differentials; in good condition

Tyre pressure and tread depth; adequate.

Brake pads; in good condition

Serpentine belt; in good condition

Battery performance check; in good condition, no corrosion and no need for petroleum jelly

Head lights, turn signals, brake lights, parking lights; All functioning well

Pull out toolbox, Cage, back, Dashboard compartment; emptied of personal items,

Preheating; functioning well

Radio; functioning well, presumably – did so at last use

(In margins:)

Remember, unsave Speedfreaks FM from radio. Done!

Weird to say goodbye, haven’t even been able to drive it since leaving the body. Sad to have my last drive be corpse transportation. The Kineema deserves better. At least the stench is cleared out.

No final drive for me. That feels wrong.

No spinner hubcaps. Wonder if they’re still at the pawnshop.

Won’t be installing those helium headlights. That would have been fun. ))

With your notes done, you go to relay it both to Girard and Gustafsson, as well as to the secretary in charge of assigning it to another officer. You give a final pat to the Kineema’s hood and leave with a sad sigh.

\----

“Lieutenant Kitsuragi!” a familiar voice calls as he passes the Communications office, after conveying what you noted to the secretary. It’s Alice. “Good luck at the 41st. We’ll be missing you here! And I’ll certainly be missing your calls.”

“I’m sure we’ll talk over dispatch again sometime,” you reassure her. “There are many district crossing gangs in Jamrock that I’m sure I’ll have to call in when they cross into the 57th’s territory.”

“I see you’ve done your research. The 41st is lucky to be getting you.” Alice remarks, but quickly continues. “I got you something. I was going to give it to you on your birthday, but hey. Things change quickly around here lately. Catch!” Alice says and throws some kind of small metallic object your way.

You catch it with one hand and inspect it. A coin-sized metal disk is connected to a key ring by small chain links. Engraved on the disc is an isometric interpretation of a Coupris Kineema. You turn it around and inspects the back. On it is an engraving that states ‘Coupris Kineema: A diligent companion for anyone with need of both swiftness and sturdiness.’

You lets a small smirk spread on your face while turning the keychain accessory around in your hand. It’s probably just part of old marketing for the Coupris Kineema, but even then, it’s a thoughtful gesture.

“Thank you, Alice. I appreciate it. I’ll be putting it on my keychain right away.” You say as you to look up at Alice, giving her a small grateful smile. You really will. Right after you have to remove the key of the vehicle in question and hand it away. Hopefully the weight of the trinket will make the lightness of the keychain less noticeable.

Alice gives a smile in return, but the radio crackles to life on the desk in front of her. “Ah. Sorry to cut this short, lieutenant. I wish you all the best at the 41st.” she says and does a casual salute before turning to the radio.

“*Au revoir*, Alice.” You say and return the salute. You to casually hurry out of the room. The usual radio crackle hasn’t stopped worsening your headaches, even as other symptoms lessen over the weeks.

Well then. Last of the loose ends tied up. Better go.

You walk toward your desk, now occupied only by the box containing your belongings and paperwork you need to get to the 41st. You take it and walk out the door of precinct 57, biding a few colleges goodbye on the way out.

The sky is cloudy as you walk across the parking lot in front of the station. The asphalt is just like the one whole industrial harbor is covered in; worn, littered with trash and occasional cracks that you have to step over as he walks.

You look back at the two story duraluminum box that has served as your second home for years.

Things are changing in Revachol. You have to change with it. And hopefully help make the change in Revachol to be a change for the better. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. But there is always your duty to the RCM. That won’t change any time soon.

The clouds open just a bit to let sunrays briefly reflect off the duraluminum siding. You have to turn away your gaze to avoid the glare, and the moment of contemplation is broken.

You turn your back to precinct 57 and head toward the 41st, where change, an unorthodox case and an even more unorthodox detective has led you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kim gets to the 41st and gets himself somewhat settled. Cases come in and things start to happen.

“Kim! You’re here!”

You certainly are there. And you have been there, at precinct 41, less than a second before the large form of Harrier Du Bois barrels towards you. How he can move so fast with his limp is anyone’s guess. Must be some kind of gym teacher thing, mixed with the casual relationship he has with the concern for his own well-being.

“Hello, detective.” You send a nod towards him.

“Hey, Kim. Tied up all those loose ends at your station?” the detective says as he saunters up, trying to look casual on the last few steps to him. It doesn’t work, he still looks as eager and animated as when he was running here.

“Just about.” You say and shift your grip on the box containing your things from your desk at the 57th.

Harry’s gaze immediately moves towards it, no doubt taking in all the ‘evidence’ and trying to glean more information about you. You disregard it. He can put in another twenty hours to figure out something about your office supplies if he wants to.

You start to move towards the direction you remember the C-wing being located. You are eager to begin your first official day at the 41st and want to start it off right. You prepare yourself for the day to come and steel your nerves. 

It’s important to give a good first impression. Even if you might have met most of your new colleagues already, in Martinaise and on your visits to the 41st for bureaucratic reasons, it still is a first impression of sorts. You are a professional and your fellow officers need to know that they can rely on you, from day one.

Your sense of direction seems to be right, as the detective walks beside you and doesn’t correct you. Stealing a glance or two at the box, his fingers twitch.

“I can carry that for you if you want,” he remarks after a few steps in silence and subtly flexes his biceps.

“No need. Just hold the door open, if you want to help,” You respond. You nod back at an officer you briefly met the week before as you pass him in the corridor. Sundance Fisher, that may be his name. You need to check your notes on that.

\----

As you two near the entrance to the C-wing the detective jogs in front of you and opens the door with a flourish. He holds the door open and dramatically announces:

“The great and long-awaited Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi has arrived at our humble wing! Give him a hand!”

…And there goes your chance at a perfectly professional first impression.

Satellite-Officer Chester McLaine and Sergeant Mack Torson turn to look at you and start clapping and cheering with over-exaggerated enthusiasm. Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare gives you a quick glance, but then turns to glare at the detective instead. Patrol Officer Judit Minot sends you a sympathetic look.

You seem to be in luck. All the people in the C-wing right now are people you have already been acquainted with. No *actual* first impressions were ruined.

You clear your throat and walk in, disregarding the detective's theatrics.

“Well, good day.” You say to the group as you stride closer to the desks where your new colleagues are gathered. “Thanks for letting me join your unit on such a short notice, as well as helping me expedite the transfer process. I look forward to working with you all.”

“No need for formalities anymore, Kitsuragi! You’re one of us now!” McLaine chimes in as he sits down on the side of Vicquemare’s desk.

“As I’ve said before, we’re honored to have you on board Lieutenant Kitsuragi.” Vicquemare says as his gaze softens somewhat as it shifts from the detective to you.

Then, without looking, the man’s hand shoots out to the side and then firmly pushes McLaine on his backside, knocking the redhead off the desk, causing him to fumble into an awkward standing position. “Get your ass off the desk, McLaine.” Vicquemare adds.

“Ow. My god, Vic. If you wanted to grab my ass you could have just asked!” McLaine snarks and rubs said ass gingerly.

“Yeah, grabbing his ass, won't that just make your homo-homie jealous?” Torson jeers and lets out a short guffaw.

Minot grimaces at their antics. Vicquemare just sighs and closes his eyes for a bit.

“Don’t be afraid to call these guys out and get them back on the straight and narrow.” He says. “If you can handle the shitkid that well, I’m sure you can handle these two hooligans. But we won’t judge you for changing your mind and leaving now. These guys sure make me want to leave.”

“Oh, you could never leave us, Vic! You love us!” McLaine exclaims and puts an arm around Torson, who makes a heart with his hands.

“No, I’m just too used to your shit to be angry at you anymore. Stop trying to scare away our new co-worker.” Vicquemare turns away from them.

Torson turns the heart into a show of two middle fingers and laughs with his partner.

“It’s just harmless banter, right Kim? You wouldn’t just leave because of these couple of guys, would you?” Harry chimes in and joins the conversation.

“No, I won’t.” You confirm. “This kind of banter seems to be present at all precincts. I’m used to it, and used to getting people to work well despite it.”

“There you hear it boys! Let’s get to work! Let’s show what the leftovers of the C-wing can do.” Vicquemare commands and stands up abruptly, crossing his arms and glaring at the redhead and the bald man. They succumb to his demands and return to their desks, muttering things under their breath to each other.

“Lieutenant Kitsuragi,” Patrol Officer Minot calls your attention. “We’ve cleared out a desk for you over here, so you can put your things down.”

“Ah, thank you.” You walk over to finally put down the heavy box.

“And then I can show you around!” Harry chimes in, once again.

“You?” You ask, with genuine surprise.

“Yes, me! I’ve basically been living here for a week. I know this place like the back of my hand now!” He is bragging now. But he does seem to genuinely believe in what he said.

“Ah.” You respond simply. “Well in that case.” The detective did certainly have a propensity for exploration in Martinaise, so it isn’t that surprising to learn he has done so here too. 

He then looks over to Minot. Asking for permission? She gives him a little smile and nods. Then he turns to Vicquemare.

The Satellite-Officer takes a moment to deliberate. “Sure, shitkid. Go on. Just don’t bother any other departments or the janitors again. Fucking behave yourself. I won’t be there to pull you out of trouble. I’ve had enough of being dragged along on your *adventures*.”

“Oh, you liked them Jean! Liked hanging out with your old partner.” Harry counters.

“No, I did not enjoy *supervising* you. Go on now. You have expert supervision.” Vicquemare grumbles with bitterness, aimed decisively at the detective.

“Come on, Kim!” The detective jogs ahead again with his inexplicable speed, beckoning you to follow.

You excuse yourself with a nod to Minot and Vicquemare and turn to follow the snakeskin footsteps leading out the hall.

\----

((Transcription:

A-wing, down long hall to left, B-wing to the right

D-wing, next to communications office

Major crimes shared breakroom, left of communications office

Emergencies desk, Left of main entrance,

Janitorial break room, (good coffee?), far down corridor, main floor

Archives, entrances on both second and main floor, close to janitorial break room.

Garages, personal at the back, Patrol vehicles in front, near main street

Traffic department, above garages

Mechanics office, a bit out of the way, corner of patrol vehicle garage

Stable, near personal garage, personal and for mounted police share the space

Armory, side room off patrol vehicle garages

Shooting range, in cellar, under armory, next to juvie

Coroners office and morgue, cellar, next to main stairs

Lazareth, cellar farther down corridor, left

Juvie, in cellar farthest corner (where it belongs)

Inspectorate general, second floor, right next to main stairs.

Economics department, second floor, left next to main stairs.

Captain’s office on second floor, farthest part of corridor

Roof access, stair near Inspectorate general

In margins:

The detective seems to have explored the station fully.

Should have expected it from how eager he was to explore every part of Martinaise.

He has a janitor’s key.

He probably isn’t supposed to have it.

He is very happy about it. It helps him solve door mysteries.

He keeps intensely looking at pictures for some reason.

Though only at framed ones.

Only 40’s, no, a single Linnea G22 too

Shoddy work on repairs.

Should show them how it’s done.

They don’t have as much time for maintenance here as at the 57 th

Make time for it.

Should do it instead of them. Get some real maintenance work done.

When time permits.

The roof is a good spot for smoking.

At the end of the day ))

\----

After your tour of the old silk mill guided by the detective, you work on getting yourself situated at your desk.

Your tour guide’s desk is just across from yours, you discover. Said tour guide is looking for something in the drawers.

Unpacking your typewriter and organizing your office supplies into the various drawers takes a bit of time. You are setting up and tinkering a bit with your typewriter when a dry voice from behind you draws your focus elsewhere-

“Lieutenant Kitsuragi.”

Satellite-Officer Vicquemare stands by your desk with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Yes?” You quickly turn away from the typewriter. You hadn’t noticed the man approach. Damn concussion. 

“If you have the time, I could show you our case filing system.” Vicquemare says and points toward the direction of where Harry had shown you the door to the archives. You hadn’t gone in there on account of his poor security clearance.

You think for a moment “That would be of use, yes.” You say and stand up from your chair. “Lead the way, Satellite-Officer.”

“I don’t know if it differs from the 57th, but I guess we’ll find out.” The Satellite-Officer turns and heads toward the archives.

“Another tour. I guess I’ll be a tourist this time around,” Harry suddenly muses out loud.

“No. You won’t.” Vicquemare spins around to address the new speaker. “You aren’t allowed to be there if you don’t have an actual reason to be there. Your security clearance is shit-tier, remember? And harassing Lieutenant Kitsuragi is not a reason.”

“But I have! I have…. This!” The detective pulls out a file with a flourish. “THE COUCH IN AN UNEXPECTED LOCATION! I need to file it. And we can use it as an example. Learning new things is always better with an example.” He nods sagely at that last statement. He is clearly confident in that fact.

Vicquemare sighs, but it’s hard to read exactly which emotion tinges the sigh. 

“Fine, fine. Let’s go,” he relents, and you all head toward the archives. 

\----

The organization system isn’t that different from the one you are used to, but there are certain differences that might have to do with the bigger case load here.

The explanation that Vicquemare gives is reasonably thorough and there aren’t many questions required to get the full picture of the system. By the time Harry puts away the file in its proper place, you have a fairly strong understanding of it.

“There! Now you’ve filed your report. Get out.” Vicquemare crosses his arms.

“But I want to hang out with you guys. We can just skirt the rules this one time, right? No need to be so lawyer-y about all the rules.” The detective counters.

“You want to show you’re a *good cop* right?” the Satellite-Officer seethes. “Please just behave like one, then. You can do it, Harry. You can be that *super cop* you want to be. Super cop it up somewhere else. Don’t fuck yourself over because of your inability to follow simple directions.”

There is silence for a moment. Satellite-Officer Vicquemare has a point, but it could have been delivered better. You send the detective a look that you hope delivers that sentiment to him. He seems to be proficient in reading you, unnaturally so sometimes, so you are fairly sure the message reaches him.

“…Yeah. Sorry, then… I’ll go do that. See you guys later.” Harry leaves, looking deliberately dejected and looking back, probably trying to guilt the both of you to change their minds.

“Lieutenant Kitsuragi.” The Satellite-Officer. “If Harry ever gets too much, don’t hesitate to get me. I know you can handle him fine, and that you think he’s a great detective despite his many flaws. I agree he can be great, in bouts. But even in his great moments, everyone needs a break from him sometimes. He just is like that. I’ve been his partner for years, I know how he gets.”

Vicquemare turns away from you, looking down the hall. “And when he inevitably gets on the drink again, just… if you don’t want to deal with that shit, just get me. I’ll try to get him to pull himself together, or at least out of the way of whatever investigation he decided to get drunk on.”

You nod and are about to respond, but then Vicquemare continues, his back to you.

“The last thing that’s useful to know is that the inter-district post is over there.” He points down the hall. “Post clerk Lebrun is there most of the time. If you just put the district and name of the receiver on the envelopes on the counter, he’ll take care of the rest. The delivery people come at around 15 o’clock, so it’s good to get what you want to send to Lebrun before then.”

You go to write down this information, but then read what you’ve written.

((Transcription:

Write summary sheet and put into weekly binder, input summary into radio computer,

Write shorthand for crime type, circle main type (where file is located) + write case number and date 

6 months after filing date, reports are put into storage archives off site.

(Ind) Crime against individual(s)

(Pub) Crime against the public

(Gov) Crime against government body

(Van) Vandalization

(Fra) Fraud

(Acq) Theft and acquisitive crime

(Tra) Traffic crimes

(Con) Contraband

(Misc) Miscellaneous crimes, specify

(Del) Delinquent acts

Secondary crime type

(V) violent crime,

(nV) non-violent crime 

Other shorthand,

(Int) Internal affairs,

(Death) Death reports,

In margins:

A Fraser 1000 Bureau, with a Feld mainframe and a Fraser Interim printer is connected to it.

A pretty outdated model.

Seems they are in the middle of a move towards digital search- and organizing-system. They haven’t gotten far.

Really? Shelves for Individual crimes are spread over both stories? A lot of stair climbing when filing then. Ugh.

The detective is pretending to know where everything is.

He wants to take the lead here too. To stick it to the Satellite-Officer.

Vicquemare turned away when talking about Harry’s relapse.

He seems very uncomfortable discussing it despite him claiming to be accustomed to it.

But he pushes through discomfort to get this off his chest. For the benefit of a good work communication in the future, like any respectable officer would. He seems to be one of them. )) 

Your notes are fine and thorough as always, but you didn’t expect quite as many notes on things unrelated to the organization of confidential documents. There hadn’t been much else to note on other than said organization, not like on your tour of the station. But they are useful observations nonetheless, even if they are out of place.

“Lieutenant? Something wrong?” The Satellite-Officer must have noticed your furrowed brow. “Did you have any questions? I might have glossed over some things that I thought were an inter-district practice but maybe aren’t. So just ask if there’s any confusion.”

“Ah. No. Just committing everything to memory.” You respond and write down the information about the inter-district post.

“Understandable.” Vicquemare huffs lightly. “There is a bit to take in on the first day.”

“Thank you for the introduction, Satellite-Officer. This has been very useful.” You send a respectful nod in the direction of the other man and put your notebook away in the pocket of your bomber jacket.

“No problem. I’ll head back, get some coffee. You want to join?” Vicquemare asks and turns to leave.

“Sure.” You follow his lead once again.

“Mm.” The other man hums in acknowledgement. “Trant recently got some new kind of coffee from a new shop in Couron or something. It’s pretty good, compared to the normal mud water we have here. Enjoy it while it’s here.”

\----

The coffee sure is something. You don’t really know what to make of it yet. It might be burnt? Is that why it tastes like that? It’s not bad, necessarily, just…

“Vicquemare, do you have a minute?”

The raspy voice guides your focus away from your coffee mug.

“Oh.” The raspy voice comes from a wrinkled man smelling of smoke. “You’re the new Lieutenant, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. I transferred to the C-wing today.” You hold out your hand for a handshake.

“Jules Pidieu, Communications officer.” Officer Pidieu shakes your hand briefly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I’ve heard much about you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I hope we can work well together.” You give a respectful nod and then back off. “I believe you wanted to speak to Satellite-Officer Vicquemare. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Depending on what this is about you might want to stay, lieutenant.” The Satellite-Officer says. “So what’s this about, Jules?”

“A body discovered in a disused canal tunnel near Flooded Couron.” The communications officer states. “Suspicions of foul play by the person who discovered it, but it’s not certain. Most other officers indisposed at the moment. Want to take it on?”

“Hm.” Vicquemare turns to you. “Well. We have a bit of tradition at the 41st. Trial by fire, essentially. New transfers get the first case that comes in on the first day, no matter what it is. It’s supposed to test stress endurance or something. I don’t know who came up with it.”

The Satellite-Officer clears his throat. “Anyway, want to indulge our little tradition? Are you up for it?”

First case. Yes. Real work. Finally.

“If we have sorted out all the necessities for it, I am certainly up for it.” You respond, after a quick moment spent on feigning deliberation.

“Right. I’ll assign it to you then, Lieutenant Kitsuragi.” The communications Officer turns and heads back to where he came from.

“Thank you, officer Pidieu.” Turning to Vicquemare you ask: “Speaking of necessities, have the officials sorted out the partner situation?”

“Nah. Not from what I’ve heard.” The Satellite-Officer huffs. “They’re taking their fucking time, as usual.”

“Hm. Well.” You spend a moment in actual deliberation. “That being in order is not strictly a necessity for working on a case, at least not from my experience at the 57th.”

“Not here either. We’ll just figure it out as we go.” The Satellite-Officer states offhandedly and then asks, his tone shifting: “Who do you want to come with you?”

Harry uses that moment to casually walk into the breakroom. Casually. Very casually. Too casually to not have been overhearing your conversation for at least a while.

“Oh? What are we talking about? A case?” He asks. “Hm. Yes. I could use some fresh air. Want me to come with you?”

“It’s a rotting corpse in a canal tunnel. The air is most certainly not going to be fresh, shitkid.” The Satellite-Officer’s voice turns harsh.

“Still better than being trapped behind a desk all day. I miss going on cases.” The detective retorts.

“You remember being on one case. How can you miss going on *cases* when you don’t even remember what it’s like?” Another jab from Vicquemare and the detective prepares another retort.

Oh. It’s going to be like this. Arguing. Will this become routine? No shouting at least.

You tune out their argument. It’s making your headache worse. You sigh quietly to yourself. You're going to need to be the professional here.

You clear your throat. Both men turn to you.

“If you don’t mind, Satellite-Officer Vicquemare, I would like both you and Lieutenant Du Bois to accompany me.” You gesture at the two of them. “You could introduce me and reintroduce the detective to the investigation process of the 41st at the same time. I believe he hasn’t been on a case since Martinaise, correct?”

“Yeah, you know I’ve been stuck on desk duty this whole week.” He confirms. “The desk is even tired of me being here!”

You give him a quick glance at the comment and then turn back to Vicquemare.

“We based a sizable part of the investigation process of THE HANGED MAN case on the one I was used to at the 57th. I’m sure it would be useful for him to know the standard practice of his own precinct. And it would be efficient for us to do the same case, instead of separately.”

A moment of silence. Harry smiles at you.

“Hrm. Good point, lieutenant. Let’s go then.” Vicquemare relents, and the three of you begin your walk toward the garages.

\----

((Transcription:

Closest address: Rue de Acíer Est 168, Grand Couron

Scene description: Overflow tunnel. ~ 4 meters in diameter. ~ 3 meters from overflow edge to bottom. Steel ladder leading down. Steel grate blocking larger objects from entering sewer at the bottom of tunnel. Steel grate covered in various garbage, including tare (metal, plastic, glass), food packaging, cans of spray paint, a bicycle wheel, a broken prybar, ripped cotton pants and a wooden clog.

Entrance ~ 1x1,5 meter roughly rectangular hole in horizontal orientation beneath upper canal edge. ~ 2 meters from upper canal edge to entrance. Combined drop of ~ 5 meters from upper canal edge to bottom of overflow tunnel. ~ 6 m of railing on upper canal edge near scene is in disrepair.

In margins:

With heavy precipitation, the water level rises above the edge of the tunnel, allowing overflowing water to pour down to sewer system, preventing the flooding of the canal. It is quite large for its job.

The other side of the canal wall is newer. It also doesn’t have overflow tunnels.

Before the revolution, there was a large steel mill north of here. In ’23 it was converted into the Musée du Esprancevoir, an art museum and commerce hall. The proximity to Flooded Grand Couron and the failed housing project has made it less and less popular over the years.

The canal used to be wider. It had to be, for the ships transporting steel. They made it narrower to make space for new buildings on the west side of the canal. These overflow tunnels are what’s left of the original canal. ))

((Transcription:

Evidence of location previously being frequented by delinquents. Tunnel walls and canal walls filled with graffito. Possible witnesses.

Field autopsy performed by Lt. KK w/ assistance from St-Off. JV.

Autopsy form written by Lt. HBD.

Short summary of autopsy results:

Victim: Male ~ 50 y/o Occidental, No identification found on body, wearing dark green knit wool sweater, dark jeans, black rain boots, underlayers; grey knit socks, white tank top, light blue boxer briefs.

Time of death: ~ 3-5 days before autopsy. Swelling caused by the body being partially submerged in water made this more difficult to determine.

Likely cause of death, blunt force trauma to back of head

Many bruises, likely caused pre-mortem

Initial interview of Marius Deloffre, who discovered the body. Lt. HDB leads questioning.

Deloffre claims that apartment building rue Acíer Est 168 had experienced a pungent smell from sewer drains 3 days. No one investigated, since occasional stench from the sewers seems to be a common occurrence in the area and usually dissipate within a day. When this did not happen after 3 days, M. Deloffre started to investigate.

He claims to have discovered the body ~15:45, and went to call the RCM immediately upon discovery. Call was registered at 15:51.

In margins:

Sprayed beside the usual FUCK THE COPS, PIGS GO HOME and *INSERT NAME* WAS HERE, is what could be interpreted as a scream and singular swears not relating to anything. WANT TO BELONG is another one that sticks out.

Seems like one of these delinquents was more of an artistic type.

First impression: likely an accident. But more leads need to be checked.

Field autopsies are the same across precincts. Minor differences can occur, but are likely caused by the officer in question.

For this reason, Lt. KK took the leading role of the field autopsy, while St-off. JV assisted and mentioned occasional differences in method.

St-Off. JV has a lot of experience in homicide, it can clearly be seen in the way he handles this situation.

Deloffe seems truthful

He is genuinely distressed over seeing a dead body ))

\---- 

It’s evening. You, Satellite-Officer Vicquemare and Lieutenant Du Bois are standing by the thoroughly bullet wounded and well-worn Coupris 40 that the three of you had acquired as a temporary patrol vehicle. It had apparently been on the way to the scrap heap before. But when news of Harry’s thoroughly scrapped and ocean bound MC came to the 41st, it had been granted another chance at life. It had been quickly patched back into a working condition during the last week. It is, as the detective would way, in a pornographically poor state, but it works. If you are ever using this miserable MC again, you will make sure to give it at least the bare minimum of maintenance it deserves.

Poor thing. But back to work. The case.

The case had gone on longer than expected. In part due to three enthusiastic and oversharing middle-aged women that worked in the dry cleaner across the canal. In part due to the detective’s indulging their need to gossip with his can opening. In part due to the explanations of the 41st‘s process of investigation. 

At least you had gotten the body out before it started to rain. The sky looks like it will open up any minute.

You flip your notebook closed and turn your attention back to the discussion at hand. Or it’s just an argument. You can’t really tell at this point. It seems to be more productive than their last one at least.

“I’m telling you! There is something more to this. It has to be!” Harry insists, throwing his hands in the air.

“No, it’s just a man who fell in an overflow tunnel and hit his head on the way down.” The Satellite-Officer argues. “Then he blocked the grate to the sewer. Nothing more.” A reasonable theory.

“He could have been killed by someone knocking him over the head with broken the prybar that’s down there.” The detective presents his theory. “He does have a wound on his abdomen that *could* correspond to the forked end of one. And coincidentally, by which I mean absolutely not coincidentally, it’s that part of the prybar that’s broken! This could be a dumping ground for both the body and the murder weapon!” 

Could be. Hard to say at this point.

“It could. But likely not.” Vicquemare huffs. “Didn’t you listen to the witnesses when they said there was an electrical maintenance worker that used to take smoke breaks there? Did you miss the *detailed* physical description that *you* asked for? That worker could have lost a tool, like a prybar, in there. Or thrown it there if it was broken.”

“I don’t think electricians use prybars all that often, Jean.” The detective crosses his arms.

“It depends on the kind of electric equipment they are repairing.” You explain. “But they usually use insulated ones, which this is not.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Vicquemare waves both of you off. “What I’m saying is that there probably is an easier explanation that you, Conspiracy cop that you are, are disregarding because it’s not *mysterious* enough.”

Yes. That has been a problem before.

“Well, what about the clog?” The detective fishes out the bagged wodden clog and holds it out. “How do you explain that? You didn’t think about that, huh?”

Unrelated or tangential evidence. Should have expected this.

“It’s just a shoe.” Vicquemare states. “Just another piece of trash, like all the bottles and boxes and prybars thrown down there.”

“There is something more to this. The clog means something.” The man scratches his massive sideburns in thought. “Maybe the perp is from Oranje?”

“If we’re throwing evidence that is tangential at best into the ring, then maybe we should consider the graffito by the ladder as something important too?” You dead-pan.

“What do mean, Kim?” Harry turns toward you, intrigued. “Did you notice something about it?

“No. Nothing.” You shake your head, but you take out your notebook anyway to check your observation. “Just that it goes beyond the usual ‘Fuck the police’ and such. A bit more ‘primal rage’ mixed in. But I’m not the expert here, you are the art cop.”

“Hell yeah I am!” exclaims the art cop and turns and walks towards the ladder.

“Oh no, shitkid. You’re not climbing down that ladder and almost falling in again.” Vicquemare steps in front of the ladder, blocking it.

“I agree with Satellite-Officer Vicquemare.” You grab the detective by the arm and lightly pull him farther away from the canal edge. “We have better things to do than you risking ending up like our victim here.”

“Like doing what?” Harry rolls his eyes and the tone in his voice is petulant, like he was just denied the only logical course of action.

“Determining that this was an *accident* and writing a report, just for an example.” The Satellite-Officer suggests and crosses his arms.

“But we don’t know that.” The detective almost whines.

“Sometimes you’ll just have to settle for not knowing what happened, but knowing you tried your best to find out.” You tell him gently with a pat on the shoulder. You yourself have had to terms with that, so you hope he does as well. 

“So many cases end like that, Harry.” Vicquemare states. It’s common knowledge for all officers of the RCM, but still the statement is made with a tinge of melancholy. “So just let it-“

The radio encased in the dashboard of the bullet wounded MC comes to life. You flinch slightly at the sudden sound, but compose yourself. 

“10-25. Come in officers on duty near Grand Couron.” The static filled voice of Officer Pidieu fills the air around the battle-wounded Coupris 40. “A confirmed murder just reported at Hotel Velvet Veil, 1370 Rue de Sepia. Requesting immediate investigation. Perp might still be on the scene.” 

“Another case! Maybe they’re connected…” Harry muses.

“Oh, shut it, shitkid.” Vicquemare disregards him and opens the passenger side door to answer the radio. “You up for another one, Kitsuragi?” 

“Of course.” You answer quickly. You didn’t even have to think about it. You’re already moving towards the MC. 

“Alright, Jules. We’re on the case.” Vicquemare says into the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna leave you on a cliffhanger. The main case is going to start next chapter! And then we're getting into the meat of this story...
> 
> Once again huge thanks to the DE writing server. You are awesome peeps!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I would really appreciate if you left a comment or kudos or something. Anything like that will make my day. 
> 
> Alright! Time to give some sources for the stuff I used for the notebook! Give them some love, if you want. 
> 
> Notebook paper background: https://pixabay.com/users/tensaisaisai-282151/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1806473%22%3Etensaisaisai%3C/a%3E%20from%20%3Ca%20href=%22https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1806473%22%3EPixabay%3C/a%3E
> 
> I used a mix of these fonts for Kim's handwriting: https://www.dafont.com/cuttyfruty.font and https://www.dafont.com/jellyka-nathaniel-a-mystery.font
> 
> I also wanna thank people on the DE discord writing server, for being awesome people and helping me beta read and figure this fanfiction stuff out! You're great!


End file.
